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DOWN SOUTH bf:fork the war. 



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I Reprinted from Ohio Archaeological and Historical (Quarterly, Vol. II, No. -1. 



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DOWN SOUTH BEFORE THE WAR. 

RECORD OF A RAMBLE TO NEW ORLEANS IN 1858. 

On the second day of December, 1857, in company with 
my friend and fellow-stndent, Alexis E. Holcombe, of Ra- 
venna, Ohio, I started on an unpremeditated journey 
through Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi and Ivouisiaua. 
A tolerably complete diary kept during the six months of 
our sojourn in the South furnishes the material of the fol- 
lowing narrative : 

We set out from Lebanon, Ohio, by stage-coach for Cin- 
cinnati, from which city we went on the steamer Bostona 
to Maysville, Kentucky. From Maysville we proceeded 
to Flemingsburg, and thence to Poplar Plains, tarrying 
a few days in each of the three towns. Continuing our 
trip to Mount vSterling, which we reached December 23, 
we put up at the x\sliton House, a very pleasant hotel, 
where we remained until January 5, 1858. On Christmas 
day the streets of Mount Sterling were thronged with 
colored folks, dressed in their Sunday apparel, and bent 
on pleasure. We were told that it had long been the 
custom in Kentucky to grant the slaves absolute freedom 
from duty on Christmas, and, indeed, to allow them large 
liberty during the'e-itire Holiday week. 

By ten o'clock on New Year's morning the town was 
overflowing with a much greater multitude than was 
seen on Christmas. White and black ; male and female ; 
men, women, children of all ranks and conditions, in 
wheeled vehicles, on horseback, on foot, — hundreds came 
pouring in from every direction. Owner and owned flock- 
ed from various parts of the county to readjust their 
property relations for the ensuing year. It was the day 
set apart for slave-holders to sell, buy, let and hire human 
chattels. And the slaves were permitted to exercise a 
limited privilege of choosing uf^^^ ^-"^.mes and masters. 



Down South Before the War. 

Some servants were loaned by way of friendly accommo- 
dation, many were rented or leased at a rate of from $50 
to $200 a year. One woman was crying because it had 
fallen to her lot to serve a mistress whom she feared. 
" If I could only please her," sobbed the poor girl, " I 
wouldn't care ; but she won't like me, she won't like me." 
The greater number of the slaves seemed stupid and in- 
different to their fate. The natural cheerfulness of the 
race was exhibited in sharp contrast with the melancholy 
background which their condition as bond-people afford- 
ed. At a street corner a hilarious group of Sambos and 
Cuffeys laughed and danced to the lively thrum of a 
banjo, played by a grinning minstrel black as ebony. 

A comical old fellow wearing the picturesque ruin of a 
silk hat on his gray, w^ooly pate, limped about with gro- 
tesque antics, informing everybody that he was a " spoilt 
darkey," and that he would "be of no use to anybody" 
who might hire him. 

In the yard of the Court House — temple of blind jus- 
tice, — a black man was put up at noon-day on the auction 
block, and was sold to the highest bidder. The crier an- 
nounced the name and age of the human vendible stand- 
ing there for public inspection, and vouched that "Jack" 
was sound in all respects. Perhaps it was mere curiosity, 
perhaps some irresistible impulse of the abolitionist blood 
of my father crying in my veins " Man is man, no man 
is more," that impelled me to walk up to the block, and 
speak to the dusky brother who was " going, going," and 
soon would be " gone " for the market price. He told me 
that he had a wife in Mount Sterling, from whom he did 
not wish to part. " I don't care who buys me, I ain't 
afraid of no cruel master ; but I want to stay close to wife 
and chil'en." 

The man was sold for $750, a very low price, the by- 
standers said, and I thought so, too. I was ashamed to 
look the unfortunate " property " in the face, for he must 
have felt very cheap under the circumstances. 
4 



Ohio Archasological and Historical Quarterly, 

On Christmas Eve, a gang of colored hands from the 
" Iron Works," came in joyful procession to Mount Ster- 
ling. Their captain headed the line, improvising and 
singing in a loud voice, such couplets as: 

"Oh Lord have mercy on my soul, 
De hens and chickens I has stole." 

At the close of each line the whole squad would join 
in a jubilant chorus, animating to hear. The sooty trou- 
badors of the " Iron Works," were coming home to spend 
the holidays, and were abandoning themselves to the 
pleasure of anticipation. After the week had been spent 
in idleness, laughter and general jollification, the reluct- 
ant company returned, in slow procession, and again they 
sang, but now in a mournful strain. The leader, impro- 
vising his solo as before, changed its tenor to suit his 
mood: 

"Fare ye well, ye white folks all!" 

The wild, sad chorus came sv/elling from the marching 
column, as from some melodious instrument : 

Chorus — " Wo — o — o — o — o — o!" 

Solo — "And fare ye well, ye niggers, too!" 

Chorus^" Wo — o — o — o — o — o!" 

Solo — "I holler dis time, I holler no mo!" 

Chorus — " Wo — o — o — o — o — o!" 

Thus went on the strange song and chorus, as the 
slaves filed back to their labor, tramp, tramp, tramp; and 
the tones grew fainter in the distance, till at last the 
dying, "Wo — o — o — o — o — o — o!" was lost in the 
silence of the winter night. 

While the dark procession was passing through the 
street, I noticed one figure drop out of the file, hurry 
to a small gate and look anxiously into a side yard. A 
girl flew down to meet him, took his hand, kissed him, 
and turning towards the house, went back slowly, her 
apron lifted to her eyes. The man glided to his place 
in the moving column, and his voice joined the melan- 
choly refrain. 

On January 5, we set out on foot, from Mount Sterling 



Down South Before the War. 

for Ivcxington. At night -fall we found ourselves by a 
farm house, and knocked at the door. A bustling old 
lady, whom we learned was called "Aunt Patsey," very 
cordially invited us in, saying, " You may be kin folks, 
Dut the Lord knows who." We told her that we were 
not kin folks, yet we hoped the Lord had not forgotten 
us, at which desperate joke she laughed, and made us 
heartily welcome. The room into which we were received 
had an old-fashioned, wide fire-place, piled with blazing 
logs ; a kettle simmered on the crane, and a black-woman 
was roasting coffee in a skillet on the coals. A not un- 
pleasant incident connected with our entertainment was, 
that next morning, when we offered to pay our host, that 
bluff farmer showed sigits of indignalion, and reminded us 
':hat we wei'e in old Kenlacky, where hospitality was 
given, and not sold. 

We spent several days in Lexington, the first seat cf 
culture in the Ohio Valley, known long ago as the 
Athens of the West. Of course we visited Transylvania 
University, and historic Ashland, the home of Henry 
Clay. A thirty-two miles ride in a stage-coach brought 
us from Lexington to Danville. The scenery along the 
Kentucky River is magnificent, and to its natural charm 
the i'.iterest of romantic historical association is added. 
From one point we looked down upon the solitudes 
"where once Bocae trod," the forest still retaining its 
primeval aspect. The stage-driver pointed to a knob, 
which, tradition says, was the site of the famous back- 
woodsman's hut. 

Danville we found so delightful that we lingered there 
Tor nearly a month, enjoying social and intellectual inter- 
course with some of the most polite and pleasant people 
of that cultivated town. Here was to be seen, in its full 
attractiveness, that typical life and behavior which char- 
aC'-"Tize the best families of Virginia and Kentucky. 
High courtesy, chivalrous regard for woman, op2n-hand- 
ed generosity, a proud sense of personal honor, liberal 



Ohio Arches ological and Historical Quarterly. 

reading in the line of general literature, and a readiness 
to entertain and be entertained by social pleasures, 
were leading attributes of the men. The reactive influ- 
ences playing between the town and its educational insti- 
tutions, gave a vitality and piquancy to local society and 
relieved it from provincialism. In Danville we enjoyed 
the privilege of acquaintance with the famous pulpit 
orator, Robert J. Breckenridge D. D., an uncle of Vice 
President Breckenridge. 

About the middle of February we resumed our ram- 
bling journey, and went, by way of Frankfort, to Louis- 
ville, where we took the steamer Great Western for 
Memphis. The voyage down the lower Ohio ; the im- 
pression made upon the mind by a first view of the 
wonderful Mississippi, its tumultuous waters at high 
flood; and the novel experience of living on a floating 
residence which was itself a curious little world, I will 
not try to describe. Suffice it to say that, to my 
excited fancy, the days on board the Great Western were 
so enchanting that I wrote in my journal, " I wish it 
were a thousand miles to Memphis." 

It came to pass, however, on the night of February 21, 
that our craft was for a time in such peril, that passengers 
and crew wished themselves anywhere else than where we 
were. A thick fog enveloped the swollen river, and a dis- 
mal sleet was falling upon the icy deck. The clock-hand 
pointed to ten ; many of the passengers had gone to their 
berths, but a few were toasting their toes at the stove in 
the gentlemen's cabin. The captain, with some jolly friends, 
sat at a table playing "seven-up." A sudden, violent 
ringing of the engine bells startled all listeners, for it was 
the signal to reverse the wheels and check the boat's mo- 
tion. At the same moment an officer rushed into the 
cabin, and delivered the brief message " Captain, here's 
hell!" The alarming announcement was not comforting 
to unprepared sinners. In consternation we hurried to 
the deck, at the captain's heels. A glance through the 



Down South Before the War. 

Stygian fog almost made us think that the officer's words 
were literally true, for, just ahead, glowing in the dark, 
we saw the red mouths of the furnaces of an up-steam 
packet. Both boats were under full headway, but ours 
was going with the greater velocity, borne down by the 
force of a swift current. Not far away glared several red, 
warning lights above the wrecks of two steamers that had 
recently been sunk by a collision such as now threatened 
the Great Western. But steam rescued our lives. The 
two vessels came so near together that a man might 
have stepped from deck to deck. But a miss was as 
good as a mile. We went back to the cabin and resumed 
our sins, the captain and his friends continuing their game 
of " seven up." Before morning we arrived at Memphis. 

My journal records little of Memphis, save that we 
stopped at the Commercial House ; that the streets were 
muddy; and that we each purchased a sword-cane, with 
what blood-thirsty intention I remember not. 

Scraping the Memphian mud from our feet we took 
the train for Panola, a county-seat in northern Mississippi. 
Accident seated me in the car beside a remarkably 
curious human creature who told me his name was Sharp, 
and that he was a school-master. I will picture him, be- 
ginning the portrait at the top. Professor Sharp's head 
was round and dirty, with small eyes like painted mar- 
bles, a frouzy, yellowish tangle of hair, an exceedingly 
long, skinny neck, and a greasy Panama hat. There was 
no positive and but faint circumstantial evidence that he 
wore a shirt ; his coat and pantaloons were made of the 
same material, homespun cloth, dyed with logwood. The 
trousers legs terminated some eight inches above his feet, 
drawers were visible below, and still lower, wrinkled 
socks descended into a pair of capacious shoes. The 
function of an overcoat was fulfilled by an old horse- 
blanket with a hole in the middle, through which the 
school-master thrust his aforesaid head, after the style of 
the Indians. 



' Ohio Archcsological and Historical Quarterly. 

Mr. Sharp took oflf his Panama hat, and, setting the 
crown carefully upon his knees, drew from its depths 
divers and sundry pieces of folded paper covered with writ- 
ing — " documents," he said they were — which he studied 
diligently with silent contortions of mouth, as if spelling 
amazingly crooked words. Prof. Sharp informed me that 
he taught " the branches " for ten cents a day, per 
pupil ; that he also gave lessons in " penmanship and all 
kinds of painting." I asked where his residence was, and 
he replied that his present "predestination" was Panola. 

The region we passed through on the way to Panola 
was flat and swampy ; covered with a thick forest of 
scrub-oak and cypress trees, with here and there a bush 
of dark green holly. There was no public conveyance, 
and so we were obliged to make our way for a mile on 
foot, in the boggy woods, amid tangled bushes and over 
logs, to the village, which we reached at nightfall. We 
were cordially received by the landlord of a small, newly 
built inn, bearing the name of Planter's Hotel. Mine 
host was talkative, and gave us graphic accounts of the 
principal characters of the neighborhood. Panola boasted 
a famous hunter, who, returning from the woods one day, 
with a crestfallen air, swore he would break his gun, and 
never shoot again. 

"Why, Bob, what's the matter?" 

" The matter ! Bad luck ! I saw eight wild turkeys in 
a flock, and killed only seven !" 

While we were sitting by the fire listening to the tales 
of a landlord, a tall, slim, keen-eyed man came in shiver- 
ing with cold. He had just taken up a runaway slave 
and lodged him in jail. Telling this with a swagger of 
triumph, he flung his hat upon a table, saying, " Damn 
the niggers; I wish they would behave decent." 

After a night's rest, we started out bright and early 
on the morning of February 23, intending to walk to 
Granada, a distance of forty-eight miles. Our course was 
through interminable forests of scrub-oak and pine, the 



Down South Before the War, 

pine becoming more abundant as we proceeded southward. 
The first plantations we saw were large clearings in the 
woods, with fields of irregular shape. Every farm had 
its cotton-press and gin-house, with huge heaps of cotton 
seed rotting on the ground. The planter's residence was 
located usually near the center of his land, and not far 
from it stood the collection of huts in which the negroes 
were lodged. 

The vigorous exercise of walking gave us a keen appe- 
tite, and as mid-day approached we began to cast about 
for refreshment. We stopped at more than one domicile, 
but either the inmates did not like our looks, or were lack- 
ing in hospitality, for they sent us away empty. This was 
before the era of professional tramps ; therefore, we could 
hardly have been mistaken for gentlemen of that luxurious 
class. A woman, suspiciously standing guard at her 
threshold, when we asked whether she could favor us with 
a dinner, answered " I reckon not. Our cook is not at 
home." " But," pleaded my friend Alexis, very politely, 
" we are very hungry, and we don't want a warm dinner." 
" Haint got no cold victuals," was the response, and the 
door was shut in our faces. 

Trudging on, we came at length to a very primitive 
shanty in the midst of a dreary waste of pine woods. The 
skins of small animals were stretched and nailed on the 
cabin to dry. In desperation I knocked at the rude door 
of this lodge in the wilderness. A gaunt, big-boned man 
wearing a hunter's dress opened the door, and said, " Come 
right in. Take a cheer," he added ; but he must have 
meant this figuratively, for there was not a chair in 
the room. Mr. Holcombe sat down upon a three-legged 
stool, and I upon the foot of a trundle-bed. We made 
known our peptic condition, and our host, who looked as 
if he had often been hungry himself, and knew how to 
sympathize, assured us that our demands should be sup- 
plied. He vanished, but reappeared in half an hour, say- 
ing, " Now, gents, walk out and take a bite." We followed 



V Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly, 

him out through the door by which we had entered, and 
around a duck pond, to the dining-room, a rickety lean-to^ 
in the rear of the main edifice. This back-room seemed 
to be the apartment in which the family preferred to live. 
The floor consisted of the natural earth. There was a 
rude table, with a bench at one side, on which we took 
seat. The banquet served by the mistress of the manor 
comprised two courses, namely, corn-bread with peas, and 
bacon with peas. Our host and his wife stood by while 
we ate, and the audience was increased by the appearance 
of a gawky boy, and two big girls. The bashful maidens 
were clad with a sparse simplicity that Greek civilization 
might have envied. The ludicrous scene received a finish- 
ing touch when, at the heels of the gawky boy and his 
sisters, a lank dog came in followed by four lean cats and 
*one inquisitive goose. 

I should like to relate what further befell us on the mem- 
orable journey to Granada ; how we stayed all night at 
a planter's; how, at the village of Oakland, we were 
hailed by a tipsy crowd, and invited to a wedding by 
a brother of the bride, a gentleman with long, curled hair 
and blue spectacles, who said he was a lawyer, and swore 
that it was his treat, and we must on no account continue 
our journey without taking something — either "trip-foot, 
rot-gut, pop-skull or bust-head ; " how, evading these 
proffered hospitalities, we took passage in a stage-coach, 
which, after sticking fast for an hour in a mud-hole near 
a " slue-bridge," finally brought us to the town we had 
set out to find. 

Taking rooms in a public house in Granada, we felt 
that wc were far enough south to stop awhile and enjoy 
the sensation. The first and necessarily superficial views 
which we had of life in tli; ; Mississippi town were rather 
favorable to the " peculiar institution ; " or, at least, were 
such as to diminish prejudice, and shake confidence in the 
fairness of books like " Uncle Tom's Cabin." The mov- 
ing scene presented on the streets of Granada, and on the 



Down South Before the War, 

plantations of the vicinity, was painted in the colors of 
gaiety and contentment. No manifestation of cruelty on 
the part of masters could be discovered, and the black 
people appeared to be happy in their enslaved condition. 
On moonlight evenings a group of merry darkies — laugh- 
ing men and capering piccaninnies — would gather in the 
public square, or in front of the hotel, and there to the 
rude music of a banjo, or an old fiddle, would sing; dance, 
fall to the ground, and pat " juber," until, quite exhausted 
by the violence of the hilarious exercise, they w.ould roll 
away to recover breath. Occasionally champions would 
engage in a butting contest to see whose wooly crown 
could batter in the head of a barrel; and sometimes this 
species of head-work was varied by the contestants but- 
ting one another after the manner of rams and billy-goats. 

We had letters of introduction to the family of a 
wealthy planter whose great mansion and broad cotton- 
fields were located a few miles from the village. The 
Negro quarters on this plantation formed quite a village 
of log-cabins, disposed on both sides of a narrow street. 
Provided by our host with fine horses, we used to gallop 
about the plantation, or to town. When the weather was 
bad the great family coach was brought out, and the 
colored driver delighted to show his skill, while one or 
two footmen occupied their proud perch behind. With- 
in the mansion all was comfort, ease and luxury. The 
mistress of the house managed her retinue of servants 
like a queen ; and her daughter, and a niece visiting from 
Jackson, employed their time in dressing, conversation, 
and playing on the piano and guitar. 

We were served at the hotel, chiefly by two attendants, 
" Richard " and " Paul. " Richard gave me such marked 
and unremitting personal care that I was at a loss to ac- 
count for his vigilance until one day it was explained by 
the following conversation. 

" Nobody cares for me down here, " complained Rich- 
ard. 



Ohio Archcsological and Historical Quarterly. 

"Down here?" I replied. "What do you mean by 
that?" 

" I'se hired out, you see ; I lives away down in Virgin- 
ia. Da'rs where Massa is. I wish't I was in Virginia, I 
do." 

"What is your Master's name?" 

"It's Judge Venable; a mighty nice man; I thought 
you might be a kin to him. " 

"No, Richard; I believe not; I do not live in Virgin- 
ia. " 

" He's a mighty nice man, " repeated Richard, in a 
tone distinctly implying his confidence in all who wore 
the family name. His appeal was irresistible, so Rich- 
ard captured me. 

Paul was a gentleman of less insinuating nature, but 
every bit as cunning. By virtue of his office as head 
waiter, he was allowed extra privileges, and by virtue of 
his audacity, he took liberties not allowed to him. He 
came frequently to our room with Richard, who appeared 
to be his intimate friend. Like Hamlet's Yorick, he " was 
a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy." His 
familiarity never overstepped the bounds of respect, buk 
there were times when, suddenly changing his demeanor, 
he would cast aside the buffoon, and assume an attitude 
and look almost haughty. At such a time, I was struck 
with his fine appearance, his lithe, athletic body, his 
handsome face, and daring eye that had in it something 
very mysterious, and something threatening. 

Paul was a good dancer and singer, and could play upon 
various musical instruments. The most curious of these 
was one which he called a " song-bow," a simple con- 
trivance, consisting of a string stretched tight from one 
end to the other of a long, flexible, narrow board or bow, 
and which the performer breathed upon in such a way as 
to cause a musical vibration, while, at the same time, he 
sang. The song and accompaniment were strangely 
blended, and the efiect was not unpleasant. Besides 



Down South Before the War. 

amusing us with the song-bow, Paul delighted to indulge 
in what he termed,}" Nigger logic," that is, he would make 
a ridiculous, impromptu oration, abounding in sonorous 
words of his own coining. 

One evening Paul came up, Richard in his wake as 
usual, and after regaling us with a touch of " Nigger 
logic," and a tune on the " song-bow," he requested me 
to write for him, while he dictated a love-letter. " I 
wants you to know, I'se dead in love with a Kttle, yaller 
gal down to the Seminary. Here is de very window 
wher I used to come up and look at her. I'd stan' here 
till I seed her pass once, and den I'd turn roun', an' go 
back to work again." 

" Much relieved, I suppose, Paul ? " 

" Yah ! Yah ! Yes sah, very much so." 

Taking up a pen, I t-old Paul to go ahead with his 
letter, which he did, and I put down his language ver- 
batim, as follows : 

" Dear Miss Ann : 

It gibs me de greatest pleasure 
to hab dis opportunity to let you know, that I is well, as 
far as health is concerned." 

Here Paul came to a full stop, and Richari ventured 
to suggest the propriety of next " axing of her, how she 
is." " No," said Paul, " I 'se gwine to tell her a big lie 
now." 

" Oh Miss Ann — Got that down? " I answered aflfirma- 
tively and he continued to dictate : 

" Tongue cannot compress de love I has for you. You 
is de darling of my heart, and de apple of my eye. For 
you, I could weep the alanthus tears that adornates the 
mighty " 

At this interesting point, footsteps were heard in the 
hall, and the landlord's voice called loudly, " Richard ! 
Richard ! " Richard made a bee-line for the door, and I 
heard him submissively and innocently inquiring, "Didn't 
you call, Massa?" 

Paul popped under the bed, where he remained until 



Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly, 

the coast was clear, when he came forth, and the tender 
missive was completed. It was duly dispatched by mail, 
directed to the care of a young lady attending the Sem- 
inary — a boarding school — in which Miss Ann also 
resided, not as a student, but as a servant. 

Within a few days, Paul received a reply, which he 
immediately brought to me, and which I still retain. 

Here is a copy of it : 

Seminary, Mar. 7, 1858. 

Mr. Paul: 

I embrace this opportunity of writing 
to you, as I did not have the chance of talking to you. 
I wish I could talk to you when I want to, but we cannot. 
I love to talk to you better than anybody else on Earth, 
for I love you so well, and I hope you love me as well as 
I do you, but I fear you do not, do you? If I thought 
you did not, I would die the death of love, which is the 
sweetest death to die. But I cannot believe you do not 
love me, your actions tell me you do, are they false ? I 
think not, how could one who is so dear to me, be false ? 
You are not false ; I believe you will in the end, prove 
true to me. Do not let any one see this, for it is intended 
for no one's ears but yours. Answer this as soon as you 
can, for I want to know your feelings on this subject 
which I have broached. I cannot write any more, it is 
getting late, so good night, my loved one — 

I have loved thee long and dearly, 
I have loved thee most sincerely." 

This billet d' amour ^ with its alternating ardors and 
doubts, was written in delicate chirography, evidently by 
the hand of some sentimental Seminary girl, at the dicta- 
tion of the dusky lady Ann. The injunction, " do not let 
any one see this, for it is intended for no one's ears but 
yours," was irresistibly amusing in its impossible condi- 
tions. The young lady, who good naturedly penned 
the sentences for Miss Ann, must have been conscious 
that some white gentleman would probably read them, 
and thus her act might be construed as a covert challenge 
to flirtation on her own account. Therefore it was not 
without a play of fancy between the lines that a reply 



Down South Before the War, 

was written to Miss Ann, such as might entertain, but not 
offend, some other lady's ears and eyes. 

It came to light, on or about the 20th of March, 1858, 
that Paul had been engaged in practices more deep and 
dangerous than gallant correspondence, or clandestine 
playing on the " song-bow." A drama of tragic import 
was going on about us, and this playful black tiger was 
the principal actor. A number of fugitives had mysteri- 
ously escaped from the cotton plantations, and fled to the 
North. Suspicion of complicity attached to Paul. A 
search of the garret of the hotel disclosed two or three 
slaves, who had been concealed and fed for several days, 
with the expectation of gliding away at some favorable 
opportunity, by night. One of these proved to be the 
father of Paul's wife. Paul's story, as he told it to me 
was, that he had himself once been a field-hand, and that 
he was happily married. He related that his master, 
attracted by the beauty of the woman, was guilty of rape, 
and that, enraged beyond forbearance, he, Paul, had re- 
taliated by endeavoring to kill his master. Boldly ap- 
proaching the object of his vengeance, in the cotton field, 
he shot at him, and wounded him in the leg. This at- 
tempt on his master's life was, according to the laws of 
Mississippi, punishable with death. In fact, he was con- 
demned, but, by the intercession of the master, who 
valued Paul as a good, though dangerous piece of prop- 
erty, the man was pardoned. The wife and her father 
were sold to a sugar plantation in southern Mississippi. 
Paul had been transferred from the plantation to the 
town, and had proven himself an excellent waiter. But 
he had secretly cherished plans to aid his colored friends 
to escape to the North, and then to follow them himself. 

The discovery of the concealed fugitives caused intense 
excitement and anger. Paul was taken to a shed in the 
edge of the village, and there "bucked," as it is called; 
that is, bound in such a position that he was helpless ; the 
clothing was then stripped from his back, and he was 



Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly. 

beaten with a raw-hide, to extort from him a full confes- 
sion. But he would not tell a single thing ; not the name 
of any one connected with the conspiracy, nor how many 
had already escaped. His inquisitors now resorted to a 
more terrible instrument of torture — the " hot paddle," a 
flat piece of wood with holes bored in it. This horrible 
"paddle " was used to smite the victim's naked flesh, but 
even this failed to unseal the brave fellow's lips. The ut- 
most that could be got from him was, " Master, you may 
kill me, but I won't tell." At length he was unbound 
and taken back to the hotel, where, for more than a week, 
he was confined to his bed by his wounds. 

Meanwhile, preparations were made for the pursuit and 
capture of such fugitives as had probably crossed the 
Yalobusha, and were on the way North. A band of pro- 
fessional slave-catchers was employed to bring back the 
lost property. Never can I forget the startling sight 
which I beheld one forenoon from the window of my room. 
Four or five desperate-looking men, with knives and 
pistols in their belts, and riding horses, which, like them- 
selves, were splashed with mud, came galloping along the 
street, and stopped in front of the hotel. One of the men 
put to his lips a whistle or small horn, which he blew, and 
in response to the blast, came a pack of lean and hungry 
hounds. To each dog was thrown a piece of raw meat. 
The men went into the bar-room, took a drink of whisky, 
and then, remounting the horses, they rode rapidly away, 
followed by the fugitive-hunting hounds. 

One afternoon Mr. Holcombe and I were rowing on 
the Yalobusha River. We brought our skiff" to shore in a 
little cove, and what was our surprise to see Paul seated 
upon the bank, with a fishing-rod in his hands. For the 
first time since his punishment, he was out by permission, 
for a sort of dismal holiday. 

"Well, Paul," I said, "they treated you pretty badly, 
didn't they?" 

" I'll be even with them some day," was the sullen reply. 



Down South Before the War, 

Then, looking up quickly, he added, " Gentlemen, you's 
been kind to me, and I wants to be kind to you. And 
now let me tell you, it aint safe for you to be seen a talk- 
ing to us niggers, specially to me. You'd better look out, 
anyhow; they is suspicious of you." The same hint 
came to us from another quarter. 

However, we made no haste to leave the town, for we 
had formed many pleasant acquaintances. When we were 
ready to seek "fresh woods and pastures new," we en- 
gaged seats in the stage-coach for Goodman, a point 
seventy-five miles farther south. The coach left Granada 
at midnight. Paul and Richard were up to see us oflf. 

The stage ride was tedious, keeping us on the road 
nearly twenty-four hours, and we reached Goodman, then 
the northern terminus of the Southern Railroad, late in 
the night of March 24th. After a short sleep in a tempo- 
rary shed at the new station, we resumed our journey, 
taking the cars for Jackson at three in the morning. Our 
course lay through swampy lands overgrown with trees, 
many of which were the victims of that melancholy par- 
asite, the Spanish moss. The train halted at a lonely 
station, and I was surprised to see the engineer, conduc- 
tor and passengers jump to the ground, and rush to a half- 
cleared field, in which logs lay rotting, and deadened trees 
stood stretching their spectral arms to the sky. I followed 
the crowd, and soon discovered the cause of the rush. 
Beside a moldering log lay the body of a murdered man, 
ghastly, horrible, smeared with clotted blood. Hungry 
flies were clustering around the gaping wounds. 

At Jackson we took passage on a freight train for Vicks- 
burg. I was accommodated with a seat on the top of a load 
of cotton bales, and as the cars went rumbling along through 
a fine country, on a delightful spring day, I experienced 
the keenest sense of pleasure, both from the novelty of 
my situation, and the conscioasness of having nothing to 
do but to do nothing and enjoy the Sunny South. 

After glimpsing Vicksburg, we embarked on the mag- 



Ohio ArchcBological and Historical Quarterly. 

nificent steamer Pacific^ whicli bore us to the enchanting 
city of New Orleans. My journal attests how active and 
complete was the enjoyment of two young fellows from 
the North, plunging for the first time into the delights of 
the metropolis of the South. I will not detail our exper- 
iences at the famous St. Charles Hotel ; our raptures at 
theater and opera; our excursions to Ponchartrain ; our 
strolls along Rue Royal to the French Quarter, with its 
steep-roofed houses, veranda, and dormer windows, and 
quaint shops; our loiterings in the renowned market, 
where brown-eyed children offer to the passer-by, for only 
a picayune, a tempting handful of dates, prunes, figs or 
strawberries, and where we resorted daily for a delicious 
cup of " cafe-au-lait." 

One reminiscence of the Crescent City, however, I must 
give with some particularity, for it relates to an experience 
which few Northern persons have sought, and which no 
traveler can now repeat anywhere in the world. 

While coming on the steamer from Vicksburg to New 
Orleans I formed the acquaintance of a young man, who 
invited me to call on him when I reached the city, and 
very cordially offered to show me the " elephant," or any 
other curiosity that the menagerie contained. The young 
gentleman's familiarity excited some suspicion as to his 
character, but he seemed so good-humored that I asked 
him where he might be found. He wrote on a card his 
name and address, "No. 71 and 73, Barrone street." 

'• You'll find me at the oflfice there," said he. 

" May I ask what your business is?" I inquired. 

" Oh, I am a clerk in the office," was the evasive reply. 

" What kind of an office ?" 

" Why the place where I stay. Come around and you'll 
see." 

I kept the card, and, after spending some time in the 
city, it occurred to me to look up " No. 71 and 73, Barrone 
street." These numbers were easily found over the door 
of a large building, on the front of which was painted the 



Down South Before the War. 

sign "Virginia Negroes for sale." My steamboat ac- 
quaintance greeted me at the door with a genial smile, 
saying, " Now you see what our business is. I thought 
you might like to know from observation something 
about the slave trade." 

He afterwards showed us through several of the princi- 
pal slave marts of the city. The first one entered was 
under the control of a coarse-looking man who promptly 
inquired if we "wanted to buy any Niggers?" Cur 
courteous guide whispered something to the trader, 
whereupon the latter, taking a small bell, such as I have 
often seen in the hands of a Northern school-master, said 
grufily, " We have but little stock on hand ; the trade has 
been quite brisk." Here he gave the bell a tap, and 
immediately, from their stables at the rear of the build- 
ing, the stock came marching, in two files, the one of 
men and boys, the other of women and girls. I could 
not fail to notice that there were also three or four babies 
in arms. The tallest in each line headed the column, then 
the next in height, and so on down to the toddlekins at 
the foot of the class. The files stood ranged along oppo- 
site walls, as if drawn up for a spelling match. They 
were dressed in coarse stuflf, an appropriate, simple uni- 
form being provided for each sex. It happened that 
while we were staring with natural embarrassment at the 
docile stock before us, a party of three sugar-planters 
came in to inspect and purchase a lot of field hands. 
They walked up and down the rows, making many in- 
quiries, and examining closely the human chattels they 
expected to buy. We learned that a good Knight of 
Labor was worth about $1500. One of the planters 
picked out a number of slaves, male and female, who, 
one by one, stepped from the ranks, and stood huddled 
together in a group. There was much chaffering as to 
the price of certain children, who, being regarded 
as incumbrances, mere colts or calves, were thrown 
in for good measure, and the sale and purchase were 



f Ohio Archesological and Historical Quarterly^ 

completed in our presence, and the property duly trans- 
ferred. 

There sat, in a show window, where she could be seen 
by every passer-by on the street, a handsome quadroon 
girl dressed attractively, and adorned with some ribbons 
and jewels. She, too, was for sale, as a choice house-ser- 
vant, at a high price on account of her beauty. As our 
friend the planter was about to leave the premises he 
glanced at this girl, and asked what the trader would 
take for her. Being told, he shook his head, leered at 
the slave, and said, with an oath, "Too expensive." 

It was a perfect afternoon in early April, when, thread- 
ing our way through the throng that swarmed in the 
sunshine on New Orleans levee, we reached the steam- 
boat landing, and footed the gang-plank to the deck of 
that floating palace, the Princess. The great bell rings 
out a signal for departure. The mighty engines groan, 
as their pent power heaves against the hot cylinder. 
The strong machinery strains its iron muscles, the steam 
hisses, the engine-bells jingle, the huge wheels slowly 
revolve, scooping the water into foaming ridges, the 
steamer quivers like a living thing, through all her en- 
ormous length and breadth. She rounds into the stream. 
Those clamorous Italian fruit-sellers unfasten their shal- 
lops from her bow, and toss a shower of oranges on deck 
as a farewell salute. The Negro dock-hands join in a 
loud, melodious chorus, and we are fairly on our way 
up river. We steam by the great Crevasse ; we gaze 
out on the woody shores, and the planters' mansions of 
the "Coast." And now to the hurricane deck, and the 
picturesque pilot-house with its never-resting, ever-anx- 
ious wheel. The sun goes down. Dusky night settles 
on the mighty stream, and turns the trees along the 
shores to phantoms. A soft, voluptuous breeze comes 
ladened with the scent of orange flowers. Lights gleam 
from the cottages that seem to glide southward as we 
pass. The stars come out and spangle aU the sky. 



Down South Before the War, 

Whither bound? We hardly know, we scarcely care. 
Let us stop at Bayo Sara, and see what that is like. The 
name at least sounds distinguished. We will go ashore 
at Bayo Sara, or shall it be Port Hudson ? The toss of a 
penny shall decide. Port Hudson then, let it be ; and we 
landed there, some fifty miles north of Baton Rouge, to 
find a dilapidated village. Port Hudson, somehow, made 
us melancholy; when the Princess steamed away and 
was lost to sight, we felt deserted and injured. 

We presently discovered a means of escape from Port 
Hudson to the inland. There was a railroad running 
eastward. The track was laid with the old-fashioned, 
flat rails, over which only one train a day was conducted, 
consisting of half a dozen freight cars, and one worn-out 
passenger coach, drawn by an asthmatic and weak-minded 
locomotive in the last stages of decrepitude. Availing 
ourselves of this traveling facility, we were lazily carried 
along, in the ethereal mildness of a dreamy day, toward 
the village of Clinton, in the heart of East Feliciana 
Parish, Louisiana. The snail's pace at which the cars 
crept, might have suggested the humorist's precaution of 
putting the cow-catcher at the rear of the train, to keep 
the cattle from walking in. More than once, the engine 
rested to allow grazing animals leisure to get out of the 
way gracefully, and without undignified haste. At a 
charming curve in the road, by good fortune, a truck 
ran off the track, and while the engineer and brakemen 
were prying it on again, the passengers took an indolent 
stroll and gathered Cherokee roses. The slow progress 
of this most accommodating train, gratified our idle mood, 
and to my imagination, seemed according to the poetical 
proprieties of an entrance into the subtropical enjoy- 
ments of Feliciana Parish. Feliciana ! We actually moved 
through a paradise of vernal bloom. Standing on the 
platform of our triumphal car, we gathered a variety 
of flowers from the overhanging trees, and gadding vines 
that trailed within reach, as we went along. 



Ohio Archccological and Historical Quarterly. 

On our arrival at Clinton, a black dray-man asked 
where we wished our baggage to go. We had been di- 
rected to stop at a quiet inn named Our House^ kept by 
a widow. We were shown to a snug sitting-room, neatly 
furnished, and hung with lace curtains. On a small center 
table, we observed a vase, in which were arranged some 
clusters of wild honey-suckle. In one corner of the 
room was a sofa, on which lay a guitar, a jaunty hat, 
and fresh materials for a not yet arranged bouquet. 
This sentimental property belonged to the widow's 
daughter, a romantic girl, who surprised both herself 
and us, by bounding into the door, only to retire in 
blushing confusion, on discovering two strangers. 

The last week of April found me at Woodville, Missis- 
sippi, a pleasant town surrounded by woods of pine and 
magnolia. I associate with the village a curious interview 
which I had, in a dismal place, with two colored men. The 
scene was a grave-yard — the " Nigger burying ground" — 
a gloomy grove, from the trees of which depended 
funereal festoons of Spanish moss. An old man — a slave 
said to be a hundred years old, had rolled from his sleep- 
ing pallet in the night, and fallen on his face to the floor, 
and was dead when discovered next morning. Prepara- 
tion was at once made for his burial, and I chanced upon 
the spot where his last bed was making. An aged delver 
was at work with mattock and spade in the grave, which 
was nearly completed. Basking on the ground, at the 
pit's edge, lay a young man who seemed to be guarding 
a dinner basket, and at the same time superintending the 
work of Uncle Pete, for by that name he addressed the 
gray-pated old veteran of the spade. As I came near, 
both saluted me with the usual bows and words of servility. 
Presently Uncle Pete paused from his digging, and look- 
ing straight into my eyes, asked, " You is from de Norf, 
isn't you?" 

" Yes, I am, but how do you know?" 



Down South Before the War, ' , 

" I know'd the minute I saw you," was the unsatisfac- 
tory answer. " Do you know wha' Canada is?" 

" Yes, but I don't live there." 

"Wha' do you live, Massa?" 

"In Ohio." 

" I never heard of that. But we all knows of Canada. * 

Here Uncle Pete glanced at the young man, who was 
reticent and cautious. For a few minutes nothing was 
heard but the thud of the mattock in the clay. Then 
Uncle Pete, casting that implement aside, took his spade ; 
but instead of going on with his task, he leaned upon the 
spade-handle, and said, deliberately : 

" Massa, may I ask you something?" 

" Ask what you please." 

" Can you 'splain how it happened, in the fust place, 
that the white folks got the start of the black folks, so as 
to make dem de slaves and do all de work?" 

Here the guard of the dinner basket, with a furtive look 
of alarm, broke in : " Uncle Pete, it's no use talkin'. It's 
fo'ordained. It's fo'ordained. The Bible tells you that. 
The Lord fo'ordained the Nigger to work, and the white 
man to boss." 

This theological view of the subject seemed to settle the 
question, and to crush Uncle Pete. The old man put his 
hands to his wooly crown and scratched, with a puzzled 
face. " Dat's so ;" he assented, as if talking to himself. 
" Dat's so." Then, in a tone of mixed despair and defiance : 
" But if dat's so, then God's no fair man !" 

The inflamed condition of the public mind in regard to 
slavery at the period of our visit to the South, made 
it somewhat dangerous for us to talk to the colored 
people, or to let it be known that we were from the North. 
Readers will remember that the Kansas-Nebraska strug- 
gle was in progress ; that the Fugitive Slave Law was 
agitating the country ; that at the very time we set out, in 
1857, John Brown was laying his plans to invade Virginia, 
and that, while we were in Louisiana, he organized the 



Ohio Arch(Zological and Historical Quarterly. 

"True Friends of Freedom." Miirat Halstead character- 
izes the South as " The Torrid Zone of Our Politics," 
and Southern Mississippi is not far from its equator. More 
than once, as might have been anticipated, the unaccount- 
able young fellows who were strolling about, asking queer 
questions, became the subject of suspicious remark. At 
a certain small town, in Jefferson Davis's State, we dis- 
covered a Yankee school-master, who was iust pluming 
his wings for flight to New England. He had received 
due warning that if found after thirty days within a hun- 
dred miles of the school-house in which he was teaching, 
he would suffer the same fa^e that had befallen several 
other Northern meddlers with what was not their business. 
"What fate was that?" I inquired. The school-master 
smiled a sort of sickly smile, and said, " Get your hat and 
let us take a walk." He conducted me beyond the out- 
skirts of the village, to a piece of swampy ground where 
stood a clump of trees, one of which was large, knotty, 
gnarly, and well supplied with lateral limbs. " Do you 
see that tree?" 

"Yes, it is quite visible." 

" You wouldn't guess," continued the school-master, 
" what peculiar fruit that tree sometimes bears. Not long 
ago, the Vigilance Committee, an organized mob of 
masked men, hung to those limbs, four men suspected of 
being abolitionists, and I was brought out to see the dang- 
ling corpses next day after the execution." 

"Your patrons are playful," said I. "They are fond 
of a practical joke." 

The look of that tree, with its mysterious property 
of bearing dead-ripe human fruit in a single night, did 
not suit my fancy. It was altogether too picturesque 
and tropical. The Torrid Zone of our Politics was evi- 
dently not favorable to the health of Ohio boys. We be- 
gan to think of yellow fever, and made preparations to 
go home and see our mothers. Moreover, my friend, who 
had been writing intense love letters to his sweet-heart on 



Down South Before the War. 

the Western Reserve, capped the epistolary climax by a 
formal proposal, that was promptly accepted, and there- 
fore he was absurdly eager to hurry from the State of 
Mississippi to that of Wedlock. 

On May 20, 1858, we hailed the steamer P^^J/?^ at Bayo 
Sara, and took passage for Cairo. 

Our six months' ramblings in the South were in the 
last nick of time for observing American slavery. The 
storm-cloud of Civil War, so long gathering, was ready to 
burst ; its sheet lightnings were quivering on the political 
sky, the mutterings of its dread thunder were heard. 
Ossawatamie Brown sprung the mine of abolition vio- 
lence at Harper's Ferry, in October, 1859 ; Lincoln was 
elected President the year after ; then the Confederate 
States seceded ; Sumter was bombarded ; the Great Re- 
bellion was precipitated like an avalanche. The children's 
children of veterans in that struggle, find written in their 
school-books, the history of Bull Run, the first grand en- 
counter of the opposed forces, which, after filling a Sab- 
bath day with blood and havoc, ended with panic, and 
the inglorious flight of the Union army. The pages of a 
thousand books, tell of the Union victory at Pittsburg 
Landing, won at the cost of more lives than had as yet 
been destroyed by any battle fought on the continent ; of 
how Farragut's fleet sailed up the Mississippi, past Rebel 
batteries, dealing out shot and shell, sailed up over booms 
and amid obstructing rafts and fire-ships, to storm and 
capture New Orleans ; of Antietam, where five hundred 
cannons " volleyed and thundered " in sublime chorus ; 
of the Wilderness, in which blue and gray met hand to 
hand, stabbing and cutting, until the ground was soaked 
with the carnage, and the gloomy woods shuddered to 
hear the groans of dying thousands ; of the long siege 
and final taking of Vicksburg, the crowning achievement 
of the Union men in the West ; of the famous battle 
above the clouds on Lookout Mountain ; and the gallant 
storming of Missionary Ridge ; of Gettysburg, the cul- 



OJiio Archccological and Historical Quarterly. 

minating battle of the war, a tremendous three-days' 
conflict between the best and largest Northern army and 
the largest and best army of the Sonth, ending in the 
defeat of Lee, and the doom of the Confederate cause ; 
of Sherman's march to the sea, from Chattanooga to 
Savannah, an invasion lasting from May to December, 
and that spread terror along its broad swath reaped by 
the sickles of fire, ruin, and death. 

It was in the second year of that terrific war that Abra- 
ham Lincohi " made a solemn vow to God that if General 
Lee shoidd be driven back from Maryland he would crown 
the result by the declaration of freedom to the slaves." 
Lee was driven back ; the Emancipation Proclamation 
was issued, and, by virtue of its mandates, five millions of 
slaves became free on New Year's day, 1863. 

Often while the war was raging, and often since its close, 
have I recalled the scenes and events of my unpremed- 
itated tour down South in 1857-8. Many of the very 
places at which we lingered, idle spectators of picturesque 
nature, or interested listeners to Southern sentiments, lay 
in the very path destined to be trodden within a few years 
by the ruthless footsteps of war. Such places were New 
Orleans, Port Hudson, Vicksburg, and Granada. Vividly 
projected on the screen of memory, I often saw Richard 
and Paul, and wondered what part they might have played 
in the tragedy of rebellion. Even now I can see as plainly 
as if it were before my eyes, the pack of baying blood- 
hounds on the track of fugitives ; I see Uncle Pete lean- 
ing on his spade in the grave just dug for his brother 
slave, and questioning the justice of God ; I see the ghastly 
tree in the Mississippi swamp, lifting towards Heaven its 
unknown martyrs to the cause of speechless liberty. 

Moves upon my vision, slow-paced and solemn, the pro- 
cession of black working men, returning to their enforced 
tasks at the iron works, chanting their mournful — 

•♦ Fare ye well, ye white folks all, 
And fare ye well, ye Niggers, too." 



Down South Before the War. 

Behind these I see reluctant files of half-clad laborers, 
moving at the command of the slave-driver, to labor in the 
cotton-field or on the sugar plantation. There is the 
master's mansion, and I hear the sound of laughter within, 
and the voice of song and the pleasings of the lute. 

Another scene : Now to the summoning bell, so like a 
school-bell, so different; in sad imiform march two col- 
umns ; the one a line of men and boys ; the other a line 
of women and girls ; march from the slave pen to the slave 
mart, and stand in helpless ranks to be reviewed by who- 
soever wishes to trade away cold coin for drops of human 
blood. " Do you want to buy any Niggers?" The beau- 
tiful quadroon, exposed for sale in the show-window, lifts 
her face ; the lustful trader leers, and mutters, " Too ex- 
pensive !" 

Too expensive ! Dear country ! Dear flag ! Dear lib- 
erty ! Too expensive ! So pronounces civilization ; so 
saith God. Slavery is too expensive for humanity to 
suffer. 

Behold another procession, another moving column, 
another marching line. Tramp, tiamp, tramp. Hush 
thy lute-playing, oh maiden in the mansion ; drop thy 
spade, old man, digging a grave. God is juster than man. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp • The day of deliverance at last. 
The Freedmen are marshaled under the Union banner, 
and as they march they sing — 

♦'For God hath made this people by the light of battle see 
That death is on the Nation if the bond do not go free — 
That by the sword of Freedmen shall the land regenerate be ; 
And we go marching on. 

Then watch and pray, dear kindred ! — when ye hear the battle-cry 
Look for Freedom's Dark Crusaders where the Union banners fly, 
And to the Lord give glory ! for his kingdom cometh nigh, 
As we go marching on. 
Glory, glory, halleluiah !" 

W. H. Venabi,e. 



3477-251 






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